


half hero, half man

by wisteria (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: I don't know what this evolved into but it wasn't what I was going for, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers was not alone, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because at this time of night, I'm delirious enough to write something and post it with hardly any editing. 
> 
> Originally, the ending was going to be more prolonged and perhaps even provide humor, but I don't know what happened. Apologies.

Steve Rogers was not alone, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel lonely.

It did not mean that sometimes, he looked outside and still felt whole; it didn’t mean that he didn’t miss his friends, his family. Just because he was surrounded by people did not mean he talked to them, spoke to them like he would’ve to his other friends.

Just because everyone “wanted a piece of him”, just because everyone “simply adores Captain America”, just because, just because; it does not matter if they like him, because it doesn’t mean they’re friends, it doesn’t mean he can share his secrets.

It doesn’t mean he can call them up for lunch—well, truthfully, he probably could. But he doesn’t want to, they only know Captain America, they do not know Steve Rogers. And as far as he’s concerned, they’re two very, very different people.

Captain America is a super soldier, he’s a hero, he’s an Avenger.

Steve Rogers is a soldier, and he’s just a man, and he draws. And reads, and eats, and does normal human things. Steve Rogers doesn’t fight with Iron Man in the same way Tony Stark doesn’t fight with Captain America. There are lines where the two are separate, and there are blurred edges where they run together, but they would never be one whole person. Because Steve Rogers is only Captain America when he’s gripping the shield, or doing an interview, or something or other; and Captain America is nearly never Steve Rogers, because Steve Rogers is only a man, and when it came down to it, nothing could change that. Not the serum, not the publicity, not the spared lives, because that was Captain America. That’s who everyone knew.

They don’t know Steve Rogers, and ever since waking up, he felt no one did.

Because Tony only knows him as Captain America, only knows him from Howard’s tales.

Because Natasha only knows him from his file, because Clint only sees him as a leader, and Bruce only sees him as a friend, and Thor only sees him as a Midgardian (with exceptional strength).

They know he draws (it’s in the file); they know his appetite (file); they know his past (file, file, file, tons of files, all lined up like novels in a library); but they do not know what he likes to draw (portraits), they do not know what he likes to eat (near everything, really), and they do not know what it was like to be in his past. They don’t know what he thinks of his past.

There are some days when he’s okay with this, because he’s not ready to tell someone everything; but there are more days when he feels trapped, like a fly that can taste the outside air but is trapped by the screen. There are some days when he thinks he might wear down his floor from pacing so frequently, and there are some days when he thinks he’s going to break himself from moving so infrequently.

He too often feels stranded, which everyone expected, but no one is helping him with.

They give him technology, and the manuals, but they don’t tell him what it’s for; they don’t tell him who made it, or why they made it, or why he ought to have one. They replace the ones he breaks without word, and he truly feels bad, but it’s all so thin and delicate, like a flower’s petals, and his fingers are too large for these “touch screens” and these “qwerty keyboards”.

He only feels okay, he only feels whole, he only feels alright when he’s fighting, and even then, it’s lacking; at first, he placed it as Bucky, but he soon learned that it was because half the time, he doesn’t know what he’s fighting for.

Because these villains come in and want to take over Earth; because these monsters come in and thirst for blood; because these aliens come in and, well, they simple come in. And suddenly they’re all called, ready to fight, and he holds his shield high but he doesn’t hold it with any emotion. He doesn’t know why the villains want Earth (it’s kind of shitty, really), or why these monsters so dearly crave human blood, or why the aliens even want to visit. He knows he has to protect Earth, but sometimes, he feels that Earth is going to destroy itself anyways.

He felt like that during the war, too.

Sometimes, he just wants to get on his motorcycle and drive. He wants to cross oceans and breathe the air of a country he’s never seen. He wants to get away, because he doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know why he was found, he doesn’t know why people still want him.

Because there’s technology like Tony’s, and there are nobles like Bruce, and gods like Thor, and normal people trained to perfection: Clint and Natasha, and near everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D.

Just because he was made “perfect” doesn’t mean he is, and it doesn’t mean he was meant to fight along people so finely crafted.

Steve Rogers knows he’s lucky, he’s ridiculously lucky; he just doesn’t get why it was him. If you asked anyone, they’d say it was because Captain America was just “so noble! So strong! So kind!” but what about Steve Rogers? He was a sickly child, and anyone who grew up like that would remember what it felt like every time they closed their eyes—the fact that he kept such morals shouldn’t have surprised a soul, but it did, it always did.

Sometimes he wonders what it would’ve been like to have been woken up even later in the future, or if they would’ve even bothered.

And, as peculiar as it was to him, he liked that thought the best, because they had bothered here, in this time. Because he was getting to meet people who were interesting, who were special, and he was getting to work with them.

Natasha was like a feline, quick on her feet and quiet; but graceful in a way certain things could never be. Clint was a good man, he really was, and even if he was strictly business on missions and strictly party off missions, it was clear to see where his priorities had been laid. Bruce—there were many things about Bruce; he was inspiring, and an old soul, and even if he seemed to radiate a weird, stagnant sadness, he was great to be around. Thor was a card, and Steve liked having someone else who was confused about everything that went on (though sometimes, he knew Thor was faking to make Steve feel better, but that was okay, it made him feel okay).

And then there was Tony.

There was Tony who was nothing like his father on the inside, but too similar on the outside; sometimes, if Steve was only taking a quick glance, his heart would pound and he’d nearly say “Howard?” before catching himself. Those moments always felt like they were too close, and that they were relapses, because the past was over, it was done.

Tony didn’t understand modesty, or working with a team; he didn’t understand what it felt like to be out of time, but Steve was sure he understood what it felt like to be alone, cast astray.

Tony was easy to argue with, because that was his defense mechanism—call them out before they call you out. It had gotten to the point to where if Steve even said “Iron Man” over the comm, Tony would start lashing out, even if Steve was only going to say “good work”.

Steve tried to stop arguing with him, but he had to defend himself, or Tony would keep going, and going, and he’d keep thinking that he won; that was dangerous, it would feed him.

So they kept arguing, all the time; their tongues were constantly slicing the air, like punches, like bullets, but there were no casualties, only witnesses.

“I’m so dearly and honestly surprised that you two are still arguing, yet, at the same time, I’m infuriated. Get your shit together, make up, whatever. You’re fucking with the team dynamic.”

Fury’s words were true and Steve knew it, but he still got a flash of heat and anger, because he had tried.

So he stopped trying, and he let Tony win every battle, he let Tony tear him down and snap at him; he let Tony call him names, he let him laugh at him, he stopped giving Tony any reaction. “So, what is this, Captain? Are you just going to give up, is that what all of your silence has been about?”

Steve remembers this clearly; he shook his head, and said: “No, Tony, I’m giving up on you.”

Tony’s mouth dropped wide open and Steve took that as his cue to step out of the room. Natasha raised an inquisitive brow at him, but he shook his head lightly and continued down the corridor.  

Later that night, he got a call, but didn’t know how to take it; he didn’t know who it was from, either, because he didn’t have anyone’s number (aside from, of course, Coulson and Fury). Whoever it was, they left a voicemail, so he dug out the manual and figured out how to play it.

It was from Tony, and it sounded like he was drunk; “It’sss nice to know you gave up on me, Steve, I fffigured it was only a matter of time, right? ‘Cause everyone gives up on me, ahahahahaaaaaa. But I want, I want to know, I want to know how it feels to give up on a teammate? Does it feel wholesssome, tell me?”

And then it clicked off, and Steve called Tony back, but only after reading the manual (it was the fifth time he’d done so in a week).

“Oh, whaddyou want, gonna talk about me being a disappointment again? C’mon, let’s go, my drink is eagerly waiting for me to finnnish it.”

“Tony,” Steve said, and then he took a pause, because he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he should apologize (it would be odd to do it not in person, he thought), or just hang up. “Where are you?”

“Arrrre you gonna try and sick a hitman on me? Taaakin’ your hatred higherrr, Steve?”

“No, Tony, I’m worried. Come on, where are you?”

There was a snort on the end of the line, and then a cough, and then a “get out of here, ya scumbag, I’m on the phone with Cappy”.

“Tony?”

“I’mmm, I’m by that bar? The one that’s reaaaal close to the mansion, yeah. Come down here so I can prove to this guy ‘m not lyin’, ‘cause he doesn’t believe I got ya down here.”

“I’ll be there soon.” And then he hung up, and grabbed his helmet. He didn’t know what bar Tony was talking about, but he’d seen the mansion (once) and could search from there.

Really, Steve didn’t know why he was going to search there, for Tony, of all. Firstly, he wanted to blame his automatic compassion drive, but he couldn’t, because it was clogged by his guilt—he felt responsible, at least, for Tony’s inebriation. Steve knew he had said the wrong thing earlier, because he could never give up on someone, but it had slipped out of his mouth and tumbled down his shirt, like a stain for everyone to see.

Steve knew Tony had a lot going on, and he felt he shouldn’t have been so surprised by Tony’s willingness to be drunk, but he still was; it seemed foolish, to endanger yourself like that, especially if you were Tony Stark.

He found Tony quickly, because he was leaning against the bar’s front wall, blatantly arguing with a man twice—no, thrice his size. “Tony,” Steve said, pulling right up and handing him a helmet, “hurry up, let’s go.”

The man grunted something about boyfriends and snickered to himself; Tony flipped him off, and the man’s face contorted swiftly. He lunged, and Tony yelped, but Steve was already peeling away. He decided to take him to the mansion, because it was closer and he was sure Tony’d throw up if he had to ride on the motorcycle for any longer than necessary.

With only minor struggling he got Tony into a bed and under the covers, and he hoped desperately that Tony wouldn’t  remember this in the morning, because he had started to talk of his personal life; Steve knew that if he was in his right mind, he wouldn’t have muttered a thing to him, but Steve had to listen, because curiosity plagued him.

“I thoughhht, hey, what’re the odds that I’ll be given up on by twooo people today? They’re, they were, ah, higher than I thought, yeah. ‘Cause it was you, but oh well, you neverrr believed in me in tha start, right? But it was Pep too, she dumped me, like a trash bag full of shit, but I guess! That’s me, right!”

Steve stood at the side of the bed and pondered what to say, because he knew Tony was far from shit; he watched Tony risk his life countless, countless times, and this was when he realized he was the same way. Steve Rogers and Captain America were the same, even if they did not seem so, because if one died they both died. And while Steve didn’t exactly think he was shit, it was close enough, and his lids grew heavy and he left a note on Tony’s side table that said: “If you’re a trash bag full of shit, then I must be a landfill.”

When Tony called the next day and said they should discuss strategy over lunch sometime, Steve decided to ignore the warning signs he got around Tony; he was a hard man to get along with, and an even harder man to understand, but Steve was up for the challenge. Somewhere, somehow, he knew it wouldn’t be bad, and somewhere, he knew that a friendship was going to be just what he needed. 

(He knew, two weeks later, when Tony asked what he was drawing when they were waiting for a meeting to begin that it had, indeed, been just what he needed.

He was reassured when Tony asked what his favorite foods were, but he was truly, truly shocked when Tony asked about his past, and when he listened; and then came everything else, and then Steve remembered what it was like to have a friend again, but sometimes, sometimes in the dead of night, he wondered if soon, he would have to be reminded what it was like to be in love again.)


	2. half man, half machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wants to understand everyone, and he wants to be amiable, he really does. He tries, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final installment of this, but I'm keeping the pre-slash tag purely since- well- yeah.  
> This one has a slightly different feel than the first chapter, I'll go as far to say.

Tony wants to understand everyone, and he wants to be amiable, he really does. He tries, too.

Well, he tried. He would look them in the eyes, he’d nod, he’d listen, he’d smile, but their words would always spin together, and then his memories would be jumbled.

There are little potholes in his memories where it’d show that he’d tried. Little marks, like little scars, where he couldn’t remember if his mother had said it, if his father had said it, or if it had been anyone, anyone. He just remembers the words, clear-cut like glass, sharp like daggers, and when he remembers, they cut a little deeper. Tony Stark doesn’t need any more cuts; he’s long established that with himself.

But he keeps getting them, and they keep twisting and morphing and getting bigger. He puts alcohol on them, whiskey, beer, fruity cocktails, he doesn’t care. It only makes them sting, makes them burn larger and brighter on his skin.

Tony wants to blame someone, he really, really does. He’s blamed just about everyone in his life, too. He’s blamed Howard, he’s blamed Maria, he’s blamed Obie and tons and tons of people. He’s blamed Pepper, he’s blamed Steve, he’s blamed the whole block.

Tony knows none of them can really be responsible for his fuck-ups, but he likes to think that maybe, maybe if they had changed some of the things they’ve said, he wouldn’t have tried so hard. He blames Howard because Howard was never there, he was always somewhere cold, looking and looking for someone who he’d never see again. Tony thinks Howard knew this, but he was too far in, and too far apart from his family anymore. Maria was very willowy and very distant from Tony, but she was sweet. She was also his parent, and that’s why he blamed her sometimes.

Tony blames Obie because of what he’s done, and yeah, he’s certainly part of why Tony’s so fucked up.

Tony blames Pepper because it’s Pepper and he’s experienced everything with her; love, hate, content, friendship, everything, a rainbow of emotions. He feels guilty for ever thinking she made him worse, but thoughts just slip in.

Tony used to blame Steve when he was still Captain America, when he was still immortalized in comic books, because he took Howard away from him. But Steve didn’t know. Tony blames Steve now because he wasn’t what Tony thought he was—Steve’s breathing and alive and while a hero, he wasn’t the hero Tony’d read about. Because the hero he had read about was drawn in, given carded responses.

So Tony blames himself, because there’s no one else to blame.

He blames himself for being left alone as a child, for being unwanted; he blames himself for being stupid, for letting Obie get so far; he blames himself for letting Pepper love him in the first place, and he blames himself for letting Pepper go; he blames himself for thinking Steve could be anything other than human, for thinking that Steve would only say things like “Let’s go, soldiers!”, “Good job!” and, finally, “God bless America!”. He blames himself for everything, and that’s just how it is. A blame game played with one.

So that one night, that one damned night when he was drunk and _actually called Steve_ and when Steve _actually called him back,_ and he wrote “—then I’m a landfill”, Tony didn’t know what to say. What do you say to a Captain America who holds himself so low?

So he thought, hey, this shit’s gone on long enough, and he went out to lunch with Steve.

It was probably the fastest Tony’s ever made a friend, if you subtract the time that they spent arguing before.

They were opposites, they still are; it’s so plain to see—the way Steve handwrites notes to remind himself, the way he does anything, really. It’s old-fashioned and Tony’s the marker of the new age, and Steve is the remnants of the past. But somehow, somehow, they get along, as if all of their arguing had been forced out before.

They talk and giggle during meetings, they go to baseball games, and they even once went to a bar—it was to pick up Clint, but they had been out roaming the streets, so they just went together. Clint managed to raise a brow, and then chuckle, and then fall over.

They go watch movies and they force the team to go out to lunch, they play basketball and soccer and the like; they do everything friends would do, in the most clichéd way.

One day, Steve needed to run by his apartment to pick something up (Tony recalls it as his sketchbook, because they were going to go to the workshop, and Steve wanted to draw the armor), and he let Tony see inside. He seemed uneasy at first, and a bit unwilling, but Tony poked and jabbed him until he gave up.

The apartment is completely and undoubtedly Steve. It’s got antique furniture and an old brown couch that could probably swallow Tony whole; the living room is sparsely decorated and there’s an old T.V. with a radio on top. The kitchen’s got tiles laid out like a diner’s, a fridge that’s tall and white, and other necessities; he doesn’t have a dishwasher, but Tony’d expect as much. He sees Steve’s room, which is much the same, with toned browns and tans. There’s a big window in there that looks over the skyline and there are papers lying listlessly, discarded sketches. Steve nervously shuffled them under his bed, but Tony saw a few; some were of the team, some of the skyline, some were maps. They all looked nice but Steve clearly didn’t think so.

It was weird, seeing into a window of where Steve lived, and it made Tony wonder where the rest were.

“Hey, Steve,” he asked, because Steve was team-leader and he’d know if anyone did. “Do you know where the other team members live?”

Steve rubbed his hand on his jaw for a bit, thinking. “I know S.H.I.E.L.D.’s got Bruce there, and I’m assuming Natasha and Clint stay between missions. Thor’s with Jane a lot, right? And in Asguard, so… Yeah, I think that’s right? Why’d ya ask?”

“Just thinking, that’s all.”

And then Tony closed that there, because he didn’t want Steve to be onto him.

Tony wanted to move them into the mansion, yeah. He wanted new memories and new lives to be established there, instead of his father’s footsteps (or lack thereof) echoing down every hall. He wanted people to eat in the dining room, he wanted to sit around a table and listen to people talk, talk about warm things and sweet things. He didn’t want to eat alone anymore. He wanted to be surrounded by people who cared for him, and even if he felt it was a bit selfish, he didn’t care.

Tony Stark wasn’t often cared for, and he’s been conditioned for that his whole life. It was weird having people like Rhodey and Pepper, who actually actually actually cared for him. It wasn’t that Tony had never been cared for, he had just forgotten. Tony had never cared much for himself, in the literal terms.

So what if he wanted someone to eat dinner with, or someone to tell him to get out of the workshop and eat; so what if he wanted someone to tell him he’s past due for the necessities of life. Ever since Pepper left, Tony felt that she took everything good about him with her, and she didn’t totally leave—she couldn’t, they were too far in, like platonic life partners or something. But she was gone, she wasn’t there when he woke up, and she wasn’t there to tell him to eat.

So Tony went to Fury and said: “Fuck this, fuck S.H.I.E.L.D., fuck whatever you’re going to say. I’m moving the Avengers into the mansion, thanks for your time, this has been a notification courtesy of me.”

And Fury just shrugged and muttered something about finally getting them out of his metaphorical hair.

It was drastically easier than Tony thought, and that’s when Tony realized he wasn’t ready to ask them, because he wasn’t ready for them to say no.

So he went to Bruce first, because he knew Bruce couldn’t be happy there, and he asked him if he’d like to move into the mansion; everyone loved Bruce, so if he was there (and not just Tony) then they’d surely want to move in.

Bruce was ecstatic, and they started talking about a lab they could make him, and blah, blah, blah. One down, four to go.

Tony found Clint next, sitting in front of a small T.V. eating chips. “Clint, I’m trying to get the Avengers to move into the mansion. Bruce agreed, so what do you say?”

Clint shrugged, said sure, and told Tony he’d be there in a week. Natasha had been standing in the door the whole time and said she’d be there with Clint and that it was mighty kind of Tony to be doing this. He looked at her weird but she shrugged too, and then sat next to Clint and shoved her hand down the chip bag.

Thor was easy, because Tony only needed to mention how it’d be like they were a family and he was in (but Jane had to be allowed in, but Tony didn’t know why Thor would think that Tony would ban her or something. But with Jane came Darcy, so he decided to set aside a few extra rooms, in case).

That left Steve, and Tony really wasn’t so sure of his reply—he knew that the fact that the whole team would be there was going to be a large incentive, but he had his own apartment.

“So, Steve, I’m sure you’ve heard already, but I’m thinking of moving the Avengers into the mansion. The one that, err, yeah, my parents and I used to live in and stuff. The others already said yes, but,” He let the words hang there.

“That’s a great idea, Tony,” he said, rubbing his arm. “I’d love too, but—uh, I mean, I can still have my apartment too, right? Obviously I’d stay more at the mansion, but it’s nice having a place that’s…”

“All to you?” Tony filled, smiling.

“Ah, yeah.”

And then Tony ran back and started to sort everything out, which rooms could be for which (he’d let them choose, obviously, but it was nice to have a sector) and then came cleaning. He had a cleaning crew come by every once in a while, but it wasn’t frequent enough to keep a fine layer of dust from materializing on everything.

He was excited, he was honest-to-god excited, because people, people here, people with him. People always wanted to be around Tony Stark, he knew that, but these people wanted to be around him more than the paparazzi, more than his parents.

*

The first week that they were all moved in, it still felt like no one was there, because they hadn’t settled in. They didn’t know exactly where to go or what to touch, and it took a lot of Tony’s persuading to make them realize that it was theirs, too. He told them that there were rooms with locks on them, and that they can’t go in there—but they’re all rooms that Tony doesn’t want to go in himself, like his parent’s old room, or Howard’s study, or Howard’s library, or Howard’s anything.

Tony, of course, had been spending most of the time in his workshop, getting it up to par with his others; fixing things and moving things and messing them up just to organize them again. Sometimes, Steve would come down and draw while he was there; sometimes he’d let Tony see, and sometimes he wouldn’t.

One time, they had been down there and they were called in. It was some glob, some something or other, and they had gotten it fairly quickly. It was nice for them all to leave together and for all of them to come home together, like they belonged somewhere, in some central place.

Steve had left his sketchbook open, and Tony really didn’t mean to snoop, honestly, but Steve didn’t come back down to get it, so Tony had to. It kept drawing his eye, over and over, so he got up and looked to see what Steve had been drawing. It was done with rough charcoals, ones that sliced across the page and left burned lines; it was someone welding, and it was Tony welding, and it took him a bit to realize that. He had been welding earlier today, and then it clicked: if Steve didn’t want to show Tony what he was drawing, then he was drawing him.

He smiled a bit but didn’t dig further into the book and went back to work. He liked having a family, he liked living with people, he liked knowing that someone was close, if he ever needed it.

Sometime later there was a knock and he ordered JARVIS to let them in; it was Steve, unsurprisingly, and Natasha, surprisingly. She looked around with a look that said “it’s impressive”, and Tony felt rather proud.

“We’re having dinner,” Steve said, and he looked really bubbly, really happy. “All of us, the team. Bruce made it,”

Natasha nudged him, and he continued, “Well, okay, Bruce and I made it, and Clint’s going to make dessert. We’re about to eat and we came to get you. I brought Natasha because you can’t say no to Natasha.”

She smiled wryly at that, and then grabbed Steve’s sketchbook off the table. “Is this what you were looking for, earlier?” She looked at what was etched on the page and smiled again, and it had to have been the most anyone had ever seen her smile in such a short amount of time.

“Oh, yeah!” He grabbed it and saw the page he had left it open on and flushed; it went all the way to the top of his ears and down his shirt. “Okay, well, yeah.”

“I’ll be up in a second, I just need to finish this up quick, okay?”

Steve nodded quickly and then bound up the stairs. Natasha lingered for a bit, and then leaned into Tony, and whispered, “You gotta wonder why he’s so excited to eat dinner with us, hm?” And then she was gone like a shadow at noon, like a blink.

But Tony knew why he was so excited, because Tony was, too: it had just been so long since he had sat around a table and ate with people he cared about, when he talked and reflected over things and laughed and drank from the wrong glass.

Tony paused everything and took the stairs two at a time; he washed his hands and then slipped into the dining room. The table was all set with plates and glasses full of ice water, and Clint was helping Steve bring out the food. They both smiled at Tony; Steve happily and Clint sardonically.

The others shortly mulled into the room, and everyone took a seat. Tony was sitting at the end, with Steve on his left and Clint on his right; Natasha was next to Steve, and across from Thor, and Bruce was sitting at the other end.

“So,” Steve said, still grinning and dishing himself up, “how was everyone’s day, aside from the blob battle?”

Thor slammed his fists on the table. “It was most enjoyable! Clint got me what you call a ‘pigeon’, and it is one of the plumpest I’ve seen! He shot it out of the sky with amazing precision. Would you all like to see him?” Thor began to push his chair out.

Clint paled and hit Thor’s arm. “You weren’t supposed to keep the bird, Thor!” Steve glared at him still, though, and Clint withered more. “And it was a total accident. I was trying to show Thor the new thinner arrows Tony made and the bird just came right in the path, I swear.”

Steve rolled his eyes and ate more, and Tony just kind of watched. It was weird and foreign, because he was tall enough now to see everyone’s faces, and he could understand their words and their tones and it was very, very different. It was writing over the pages of memories he had at this table, and he was glad.

Natasha said something or other about Coulson doing something or other, but Tony wasn’t really paying attention, because he was watching how attentive Steve was to every word everyone was saying, all at once. He’d laugh and throw his head back and set his fork down so he could cover his mouth to snicker; he’d smooth his shirt and use wild hand gestures, and everything anyone could do to show that he was there, he was alive, and he was happy to be right there, in that spot.

“Tony, are you alright?”

Tony hadn’t even noticed that Steve had turned all of his attention towards him. “Uh, yeah. It’s just—this is nice, you know?”

Steve’s smile was small but knowing. “Yeah. We ought to do this often, huh?” And then Steve’s grin broke like it couldn’t contain itself and grew wider, and he bit his lip before turning his full attention on his plate.

Everyone talked for a long while after they had finished eating, and it was needless to say that everyone was (slightly) surprised by how well Bruce and Steve cooked. Clint had gotten up a few times to check on his dessert, and soon the smell wafted into the dining room. Clint looked rather happy that people seemed to be noticing, and it wasn’t much longer after that when he said the cookies were done and the movie had been picked out, and that hell yeah, they’re watching a movie.

So they all clobbered to the living room with glasses and two jugs of milk and a few plates of gooey cookies. Everyone was quick to find a seat, and they really didn’t have the heart to care that Clint had picked a stupid movie.

Steve kept whispering questions to Tony throughout, like “What’s that mean?”, “Is he going to die now? Oh my god, he’s going to die, right?”, “Are all of the references in this movie from _Star Wars_?”, and, finally, “Can I kiss you, Tony?”.

Tony’s mind didn’t quite register the last question exactly like Steve had said it, and his mind played it over and over until he realized what Steve had said, and then he looked at Steve, who was blushing (you could even tell in the low light, aw), and staring, and biting his lip.

So Tony kissed him, right there, just as the guy who Tony assured Steve wasn’t going to die, died. And then when they pulled away, Steve drew Tony so that he was nearly on his lap, and he smiled, a big, goofy grin. 


End file.
